


Not Unrequited, Just Unknown

by CelestialVoid



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Fluff, High School Student Derek, M/M, Prom, School Dances, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-23 20:18:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19708660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestialVoid/pseuds/CelestialVoid
Summary: .Derek has been in love with Stiles since they were in high school, but Stiles is oblivious.





	Not Unrequited, Just Unknown

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loveyProphet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveyProphet/gifts).



To Derek, he was breathtaking. His chocolate brown eyes that shimmered like pools of golden whiskey when they caught the light; the moles that charted constellations across his porcelain-pale skin; the sound of his laugh and his sweet smile. There wasn’t a thing about Stiles that Derek didn’t like—he might as well have hung the stars and the moon.

Derek just wished he had the words to tell him how he felt.

Whenever he talked to others, he came off as suave and charming; the jock with the most stunning eyes and a devilish smile. But every time he talked to Stiles, his stomach would do flips, and he’d choke on his words and end up tongue tied, until all he could do was stare at Stiles, wishing he could just say what he wanted so badly to say.

“Why?” Derek cried out in frustration, burying his hand in his face. “Why am I such a mess around him?”

“Because you love him,” Erica replied bluntly as she leant forward on the table, reaching across to steal a chip off Derek’s plate while he wasn’t looking.

“I know that,” Derek said, dragging his hands down his face. “But why I can’t I _tell_ him that.”

“You just have to try harder,” Boyd said quietly.

Derek levelled him with a dirty glare, his frustration showing.

"I dress cute,” he said, gesturing down at his clothes—the soft, olive-green Henley that Stiles said looked good on him, his old leather jacket and black jeans; nothing spectacular, but he did look good. “I smile at him. I even winked at him! _Two times_!"

Erica held her hand over her face, hiding the smile that played across her lips.

“You winked at him?” Boyd asked, struggling to smother his laughter.

"I complimented him,” Derek continued, ignoring them. “I carried his books for him on his way to chemistry, and all I got in return was a fake smile"

Boyd reached over and gently patted his back. "You'll get him next time, buddy."

“Have you considered that he might be afraid of you?” Erica asked.

“Have you considered that he might be as dumb as bricks?” Isaac added.

Derek shot him a dirty glare. 

“Derek, think about it,” Erica said softly, ignoring Isaac’s remark and drawing Derek’s attention away from Isaac. “You’re the cool jock and he’s the shy nerd. You’re suave and charming, and he’s a walking disaster—lovable, but a disaster nonetheless. You come from an impressionable family, and you have looks to boot. Have you considered that Stiles might think that someone like you wouldn’t be interested in him?”

Derek thought about it for a moment.

“Then how do I show him I’m interested?” Derek asked.

“Maybe stop flirting with him and just try to be his friend,” Boyd suggested. “Let him get to know you—the _real_ you.”

“The real me,” Derek repeated thoughtfully.

“Yeah, strip down to your underwear and do a dance number down the hall. That ought to show him the real you,” Isaac teased.

Erica pinched his arm, levelling Isaac with a look that said ‘ _Don’t encourage him_ ’. She let out a measured breath and turned back to Derek.

“I could always ask Stiles what—or who—he’s interested in,” she suggested.

“No, don’t do that,” Derek said, almost pleadingly.

“Too late,” Erica said. “He’s coming over here. I’m going to ask him.”

“Don’t—” Derek hissed under his breath.

“Hey, Stiles,” Erica called out, flashing a charming smile as Stiles came over to their table. “What’s your type?”

“My type?” Stiles repeated back to her, his brow furrowed slightly in confusion.

“Yeah, like Derek here likes smart guys with brown eyes, messy hair, and freckles; I like strong guys with a heart of gold—” She winked across the table at Boyd, who smiled back bashfully. “And Isaac like brunettes. What’s your type?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles said, pausing for a second to think. “I’m kind of into guys who are taller than me—but not by too much. Dark hair, green eyes. The kind of guy who looks like a bad boy but is actually really sweet, smart, and funny.”

“So… Derek?” Isaac said bluntly. He jumped, biting into his lip as Boyd kicked him under the table—the two of them glaring at each other.

Derek felt his cheeks warm as his face flushed bight-red. He kept his eyes down on the table, unable to look up at Stiles.

“Yeah, but I’d be so lucky,” Stiles said. He quietly pardoned himself and left.

Erica levelled Derek with a look that said ‘ _I told you so_ ’, gesturing at Stiles as the boy walked away.

“Derek, you have a chance,” Boyd said softly. “Just take it.”

The library was quiet, the only sound that filled the large space was the quiet whispers of students and the fluttering of turning pages.

Derek sat across the table from Stiles, trying to focus on his assignments, but his gaze kept drifting to the boy.

His textbooks, note books, the cue cards and study notes that Lydia had given him, and those he had written himself were sprawled out across the table in front of him, covered in bright highlighter and colourful sticky notes. Pens and highlighters of all kinds and colours were scattered among the mess of paper and books that covered the table.

He watched as Stiles’ rosy-pink lips moved around unspoken words as he read the text in front of him, occasionally stopping as he gently gnawed at the end of his pen—a bad habit, but one that Derek also did. He watched as Stiles’ dark brown eyes moved back and forth across the pages.

He must have realised Derek had stopped working, because he looked up, his doe-eyes meeting Derek’s gaze as a look of confusion passed over his face.

“What?” Stiles asked quietly.

“Nothing,” Derek replied, bowing his head.

“Do I have something on my face?”

Derek fought the urge to laugh, a smile playing across his lips as he shook his head. “No, you don’t.”

“Was I talking—thinking out loud?”

“No,” Derek said quietly, smiling as he looked up at Stiles. “It’s nothing. Really.”

“Okay,” Stiles said hesitantly before turning back to his work.

Derek felt his chest tighten, his heart hammering against his ribs as he watched Stiles for a second longer before dropping he gaze.

“Ask him,” Boyd said insistently, his voice calm and low enough that only Derek could hear him over the chatter of the locker room.

Derek dug through his locker for a clean shirt. He pulled his shirt on, waiting as a few of the boys cleared out of the change room.

“What am I meant to say? ‘Hey, Stiles, want to go to the dance with me’?” Derek asked.

There was a quiet thud as Stiles shut his locker. “Sure.”

Derek jumped, his heart lurching into his throat. He spun around, eyes wide as he looked at the boy who stood a few lockers down from his.

Stiles’ dark brown eyes looked from Derek to Boyd. “Or was that a joke?”

Boyd gently elbowed Derek in the ribs, shaking him from his stupor.

“It wasn’t a joke,” Derek replied.

A sweet smile turned up the corners of Stiles’ lips. “Oh, good.”

“You really want to go to the dance with me?” Derek asked, stunned.

“Yeah.”

“Great! I’ll pick you up at six?” Derek offered.

“Six it is,” Stiles said.

“Stiles, come on!” Scott called from across the locker room.

“I’ll see you later,” Stiles said as he hurried towards the door.

Boyd smiled goodbye, leaning back against his locker as his kind smile turned into a smug smirk.

“That is not how I imagined that happening,” Derek said.

“But it happened,” Boyd argued. “You asked Stiles out to the dance and he said yes. That’s what you wanted, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“There’s no ‘but’,” Boyd interrupted. “You asked the guy you liked out to the dance.”

“But I didn’t, technically,” Derek argued. “He overheard me making a sarcastic comment about asking him out.”

“I said no ‘but’s,” Boyd scolded, hoisting his bag over his shoulder before walking away.

Derek let out a frustrated groan, grabbing his bag before slamming his locker shut and following Boyd out of the locker room.

Three days later, Derek parked the car out the front of Stiles’ house, letting out a measured breath as he tried to calm his racing nerves.

“I can do this,” he told himself. “I can do this.”

He picked up the bouquet of flowers that sat on the passenger’s seat—an arrangement of pale pink spray roses, pink wax flowers, and bundles of star baby’s breath—and stepped out onto the street. He made his way down the footpath to the front door, taking a deep breath in before reaching out to ring the doorbell.

“I’ve got it!” Stiles’ voice rang out from inside the house, his feet thundering down the stairs as he sprinted to the front door.

Derek heard him pull back the bolt before throwing the door open and greeting Derek with a bright smile.

He was dressed in a simple black tuxedo that was fitted to his surprisingly broad shoulders, a white shirt, and a thin black tie ran down his chest. It seemed so simple, but it looked so good on him.

“Hi,” Stiles said, his radiant smile unwavering.

“Hi,” Derek replied, struggling to find his voice. He shook himself back to reality, holding out the bouquet of flowers. “These are for you.”

Stiles’ face softened as he took the flowers from Derek.

“They’re beautiful. Thank you.” A look of alarm passed over his face. “I didn’t get you anything.”

“You didn’t need to,” Derek said softly.

“Come in,” Stiles said, taking a step back from the door. “I’ll just go put these in some water.”

Derek waited in the entrance as Stiles disappeared through one of the open doorways.

A moment later, the Sheriff stepped out of the other door that lead to the living room, smiling at Derek. “Hi, son. How are you?”

“I’m alright, sir. How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you,” John said, chuckling softly. “And you don’t have to call me ‘sir’.”

He glanced from Derek to the open doorway that led through to the kitchen, where he could hear Stiles rummaging about in the cupboards for a vase.

“You like him, don’t you?” he asked.

Derek felt his face flush red, his eyes flying open wide as his lips began to move around unspoken words.

“Don’t worry,” John said softly. “I’m not going to tell you to stay away from my son. I get the feeling he likes you too, he can just be a little…” He paused for a moment, trying to think of the word. “…oblivious sometimes.”

Derek looked up at the Sheriff, watching a small smile lift the corners of his lips.

The Sheriff turned his gaze to Derek. “If you like him, just be patient with him. He’ll realise sooner or later.”

“Yes, sir,” Derek said—a promise.

The Sheriff gently patted Derek shoulder.

Stiles nearly tripped over his feet as he came hurrying back into the entrance.

“Alright, I’m heading off to my shift,” the Sheriff said as he grabbed his car keys from the nearby table. “I don’t want to hear about any trouble from you two, okay?”

“Yes, dad,” Stiles replied.

The Sheriff smiled as he gently tousled his son’s unruly hair. “You boys have fun.”

The school gym had been decorated with long ribbons of flowing white fabric draped from the ceiling, radiating from the central point in the room and bowing slightly before it was pinned back against the walls, the ends cascading down the walls like curtains of falling water. The parts where the fabric had been pinned to the ceiling or to the walls were decorated with hanging strands of crystal-like beads, the glass chunks shimmering and glinting as they caught the light.

Stiles spent most of the night being a wallflower, standing by the bleachers, sipping his drink, and talking to a few of their friends that came over to join him every so often.

Derek hung back, sitting on the bottom step of the bleachers. A mess of thoughts filled his head as he tried to think of a way to ask Stiles to dance with him. But every time he thought he could work up the courage, someone would turn to look at him, smile in his direction, or simply pass by him and the sharp stab of anxiety made him freeze.

Someone stepped over to his side, slouching against the brick wall next to him.

“You know,” a familiar voice started. “I’ve been standing over there for about an hour now, hoping you’d come and ask me to dance with you.”

Derek glanced up, looking up at Stiles. His stomach twisted with guilt. He opened his mouth to apologise, but the words died away before they reached his lips. He swallowed hard and forced himself to say something.

“Dance with me?” Derek said, his voice a soft plea.

Stiles held his hand out to Derek and Derek took it, letting Stiles pull him towards the dancefloor.

As they passed, people turned to look at them, the room filling with a buzz of hushed whispers as people stopped dancing to watch them.

Stiles stopped on the dance floor, turning back to face Derek. The smile fell from his face as he realised everyone was looking at them.

Derek took a step closer to him, his voice soft and his eyes warm as he said, “Ignore them.”

Stiles swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, his heart pounding in his chest. “But they’re all staring at us."

“That’s just because you’re too handsome,” Derek whispered.

Stiles snorted as he fought a burst of laughter, his cheeks coloured with a rosy-pink blush.

Derek took Stiles’ hand in his own, his other hand settling on Stiles’ waist. He pulled Stiles close against him and Stiles didn’t resist, melting into Derek’s arms as they began to move back and forth, swaying to the melody of the song.

The lights that shimmered on the glass decorations reflected in their eyes, lighting up Derek’s aventurine depths and making Stiles’ brown eyes shimmer like golden whiskey.

The gazes of all those around them melted away as Stiles stared into Derek’s eyes.

It was just the two of them.

As the melody slowed and the song began to fade into the next, Derek guided Stiles’ hand up to his other shoulder, settling his hands on Stiles’ waist as they began to rock back and forth in a slow dance.

They stayed that way, swaying slowly as the music played, dancing for the rest of the night—just him and Stiles.

Stiles sat on one of the barstools in front of the kitchen counter in the Hale house. He leant forward on his elbows, resting his head on his hands as he stared into oblivion, letting his mind wander.

He never minded the parties, but there were times when he needed space; times when he needed to be alone for a little while.

“You alright?”

He jumped, spinning around in his seat to look at Peter as the man came into the kitchen, a concerned expression resting on the man’s face as he looked a Stiles.

“Yeah,” Stiles answered. “I just needed to get away for a bit.”

Peter nodded slightly.

“Can I get you something to eat, or a drink?” Peter offered as he set an empty glass down in the sink.

“A glass of water?” Stiles asked.

Peter grabbed a glass from the cupboard, filling it up with water before passing it to Stiles.

“Thank you,” Stiles said with a smile.

“You know,” he started slowly, leaning forward slightly on the counter. “I think it’s sweet.”

“What?” Stiles asked.

“How much Derek loves you,” he replied.

Stiles nearly choked on a mouthful of water. “What you do mean how much Derek loves me?”

Peter fought the urge to laugh. “You two have been together, what? A year and a half? Two years? Before you he had two relationships. They lasted four months maximum and he never brought them home to meet his family, let alone his _whole_ family. But he has brought you as his plus one to every family reunion for the past year.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean he _loves_ me,” Stiles argued. “I mean, he likes me, sure. We’re dating. But I don’t think he _loves_ me.”

“Why not?” Peter asked.

Stiles half-shrugged. “Because I’m not good enough. Because there’s nothing special about me.”

A small smile quirked up the corner of Peter’s lips. “I think everyone here would disagree.”

“Hey.” Derek’s voice was quiet as he stepped into the kitchen, walking over to Stiles’ side and setting a hand on the boy’s back. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, smiling sweetly at him.

He glanced at Peter then back at Stiles. “Did he do something?”

Peter looked offended.

“No,” Stiles said with a reassuring smile. He leant forward, pressing a tender kiss to Derek’s lips.

Derek laid back on the seat that was built into the bay window with Stiles laying back against his chest as they watched the storm pass over, the glistening rivulets of water streaming down the glass and flashes of lightning broke through the rolling grey clouds.

His arms were wrapped around Stiles, the ball of his thumb gently tracing circles across the soft mole-speckled skin of the back of his hand.

“Do you like me?” Stiles asked, his voice quiet.

Derek fought the urge to laugh.

“Stiles, we’re married,” he pointed out, lacing his fingers through Stiles’, feeling the familiar silver band that encircled his finger. “We’ve been married for five years.”

“Yeah, but do you like me?” Stiles repeated, sitting upright and turning to look at Derek.

“I love you,” Derek answered. “I’ve loved you ever since I first laid eye on you.”

Stiles’ eyes glistened as they welled with tears. “You really love me?”

A soft smile lifted Derek’s lips as he looked at Stiles. “I really do.”

Stiles laid down against Derek’s chest, wrapping his arms around the man’s waist and burying his face in the curve of his neck.

“I really love you too,” Stiles said quietly.

Derek craned his neck, pressing a kiss to Stiles’ temple as he wrapped his arms around Stiles and held him close.

**Author's Note:**

> celestialvoid-fanfiction.tumblr.com


End file.
